Beggar's Dance
by bamftastik
Summary: Despite his better judgement, mentor Finnick finds himself falling for one of his tributes. He vows to do whatever he can to keep her alive, even if it means begging for sponsors amongst the "friends" of President Snow.


"You do know that begging is forbidden in the Capitol, don't you? Though I must say it's been quite some time since one so beautiful has visited my doorstep." The old man stepped back into the foyer, ushering his guest through the door.

"I doubt that's true." A ghost of a smirk tugged at the boy's lips, but his eyes were cold, sweeping round to take in the grandeur of the entry hall before fixing firmly on the floor.

"You would be surprised. Even a powerful old man is an old man still." He chuckled. "Not like you. How you've grown before our very eyes. Quite the popular young man, as I hear it."

To his credit, the boy did not flinch. But he raised those eyes now, fixing his host with a stare as deep and green as the uncharted sea. As dangerous, too. "President Snow has many friends. He has been kind enough to introduce me to them."

"Of course. Our President can be most... generous."

Again the ghost of a smile, twisting painfully. But his shoulders straightened, recovering something of his full, impressive height. Tanned lines crinkled round his lips as he sighed, shaking his head to flick the coppery hair from his eyes. No, this one could never play meek for long. There was pride there as well as pain.

"I hear you've gone begging to those friends. Seeking sponsors. As you now come begging to me."

"Don't think of it as begging. Think of it as an arrangement."

"You've already made many arrangements. Quite the busy boy this year. More so than usual."

His eyes focused straight ahead, avoiding the old man's gaze. But he could not hide the flicker of fear. "We need sponsors."

"Indeed. Your girl did not look promising."

"You underestimate her."

So vehement were the words that the older man had to laugh. "Your boy was killed at the Cornucopia. Would you be here at this hour if it was him you were trying to save?"

"Darren. His name was Darren." He swallowed. "There's nothing I can do for him now."

"But you're hoping I can do something for the girl. Why?"

"She deserves a chance."

"Again I ask, why? Convince me. That's why you're here, after all."

The boy blinked, for the moment overcome. He pinched shut his eyes, steeling himself as he turned his face away. The old man lay a gentle hand on his arm.

"Come, Finnick. Tell me about Annie."

* * *

><p>Finnick shielded his eyes, squinting up at the lights. They were erected all around the square, reflecting blindingly off of the oversize screens, casting the distant bay in a strange, unnatural light. Better to look at them, though. Better to go blind than look at the sea of faces below.<p>

A boney hand clasped his wrist, reminding him that it was time to take his seat. Mags was already propped stiffly in her chair and as he sat beside her, she twined her fingers through his.

He cast her a sideways smile. "I don't want to be here."

She clucked her tongue sympathetically.

"Does it get any easier?"

"No. But mebee you hide from it, an' mebee you help. Mebee we keep 'em alive this year."

"Yeah... maybe. It's not like they won't drag me back to the Capitol anyway. Might as well give myself something to do while I'm there."

Mags patted his knee. It occurred to him that he'd never asked if it had always been this way. She'd been young when she won the Games – beautiful too, they said. Had she been paraded around at parties? Traded amongst the Capitol's most influential citizens? Suddenly he found himself studying the crowd below them. Maybe there _were_worse things that a quick, bloody death in the arena.

He'd managed to miss the opening history lesson, daydream through the worst bits of pomp and ceremony. He'd been a mentor a few times now and had found it was always best to listen to as little of the proceedings as possible.

When they drew the girl's name, sound still hadn't returned to him. The microphone popped, their host's lips moved, somewhere somebody gasped. But he didn't need to hear the words to know what name they had called. The girl approached the stage on shaking steps, keeping her eyes straight ahead and smiling wanly for the cameras as they had been taught. Only Finnick seemed to notice the tear sliding silently down her cheek.

Annie Cresta.

He knew her in passing only, knew the boat her father worked. But she had always seemed a gentle thing, like a fragile pearl to be tucked away and protected behind the thickest shell. She had just seemed... important, somehow. And though no Reaping was ever less than tragic, Finnick felt as if for the first time how unfair it all was.

He was on his feet, he realized. The Capitol host was looking at him with the strangest expression. Even Annie looked surprised, before quickly averting her eyes.

Of all things, Mags seemed to be chuckling.

The host decided it was best to ignore him and move things along. A boy named Darren was called. The crowd began to disperse. As the peacekeepers began moving them toward the train station, Finnick found himself striding forward and offering the girl his hand.

She took it gently, smiling shyly up at him before looking away again.

"Hi. I'm Finnick. And..." He couldn't say where the words came from. "And it's going to be okay."

* * *

><p>"Not bad today."<p>

Annie looked up from her perch on the couch. Even now, she looked perpetually startled, sitting gingerly on the edge of the cushion as though ready to flee at any moment. But the Reaping was over; no one would hurt her until the Games began. She was as safe as she would ever be, at least for the next few days. Somehow, he didn't think telling her that would help.

Finnick smiled down at her, trying his best to look reassuring. The others had already gone to bed, but he could never really sleep when he was in the Capitol. The tiredness almost helped, making the days blur into each other. But the tributes would need all the rest they could get.

"I hear you're quick with a net. Even the trainer was impressed, once they cut him out of it."

"How did you know about that?" Still her eyes were wide, but there was a hint of laughter there. Fear overtook it quickly, though.

"Darren told me."

"Oh. Am I in trouble?"

"No." Finnick grinned, flopping onto the couch beside her. "Like I said, they were impressed."

"Mags told me to start with the survival stations. Building fires, tying knots."

"In my experience, it's always a good idea to listen to Mags."

She dared a smile.

"See? It's okay. You can laugh."

Annie lowered her eyes but she was chuckling now, one strand of long, dark hair shaking free to fall across her forehead. "The look on his face. He turned bright red. It just got tighter the more he struggled, you know?"

"I know the kind. That was good."

"Not like you, though. I'm not a fighter."

"Half those kids aren't."

"But I remember watching you." She looked up at him shyly. "My dad said he'd seen you with a trident before – no one could match you. And you had sponsors. You were popular. You still are. You're always on TV, and the women..." Something in her tone made it a question.

He couldn't explain, couldn't possibly tell her. The Games were bad enough. How could he tell her that the danger wouldn't end even if she won? That even something as small as turning down a date with a prominent Capital citizen could cost her family their lives? He sighed.

"Sorry. I'm sorry, that's not—"

"No, it's okay." He pushed to his feet, eyes sweeping the room. "You want to learn to fight?"

"I... yes."

"I can teach you."

"Mentors aren't supposed to... I mean, not _actually_. We can't go down to the training level."

He smirked, eyes lighting on the curtains. "No, but we can train right here." He offered his hand and she hesitated only a moment before taking it and letting him pull her to her feet. Her touch was warm, her grip stronger than it looked.

Annie gasped as he ripped down the curtains, stifling a nervous laugh behind her hand. He slid the rings from the curtain rod, giving it an experimental swing. The weight was off, but you never knew what kind of weapons there would be in the arena. He thrust it out before him and again to the side before twirling it round his head bracing it behind his back.

Annie's eyes were wide.

"It's not a trident, but it's good enough for practice."

"Are we going to get in trouble?"

"There's nothing wrong with starting a little trouble. Especially not when you're..." He trailed off.

"About to die?" He opened his mouth to protest, but Annie only shook her head, laying her hand on the stick between his. "It's okay. I know I'm not going home."

Should he lie to her? He wanted to. But it occurred to him that he hadn't seen her cry since the Reaping. She was still frightened, but he hadn't seen her shed another tear. Maybe she was stronger than any of them thought.

Annie positioned herself in front of him, taking the makeshift staff and mirroring his stance. He set himself behind her, placing his hands gently over hers, guiding her thrust. Her hair tickled at his nose. It smelled of salt, of free air, of home.

She learned quickly and soon he was letting her lead. But he never strayed more than a few steps from her side, moving with her to give encouragement or stepping round to play the attacker.

Another twirl and a near-miss to his middle brought her back into his arms. Finnick rested his cheek against her hair and breathed deep. "We're going home. I promise."

* * *

><p>She sat by the fountain, trailing her fingers in the water. He remembered how strange it had seemed when they first entered their rooms. In the Capitol they built fountains indoors, kept fish as pets instead of food. Even Annie had set aside her fear long enough to comment on it.<p>

Finnick watched her now from the shadow of the inner hallway. Her interview had gone well. Darren's too. They had been styled in matching outfits of pale sea green, Annie's dress as light and simple as swirling foam. It left her arms bare, her shoulders pale and slender, moving with the pattern that she traced on the water's surface.

Watching her, his hand tightened on the molding of the doorway. He wanted to scream, to hit something, to weep. He wanted to... Gritting his teeth, Finnick shook his head. The Games would begin tomorrow. Thinking about anything else was pointless.

He heard footsteps in the hall behind him. Mags shuffled along on her cane, stopping to grin up at him through cracked teeth. He put a finger to his lips and nodded in Annie's direction.

Mags arched a brow, her grin growing wider.

"No." He shook his head. "Let's just... leave her in peace."

Mags sighed. With a shrug, she turned to go. But at the last second, she whirled, smacking her cane into Finnick's knee and shoving him firmly out into the entryway.

"Hey!" He stumbled, barely recovering his balance. Raising his eyes, he found Annie staring at him.

"I didn't think you were the clumsy type."

"I... was just... Mags..." But the hallway was dark, the old woman gone. "Nevermind."

"Come here." Annie patted the edge of the fountain beside her. Even now, here, she couldn't hide her amusement.

"Seems like you like seeing me fall."

"Maybe." She smiled shyly. "Maybe you're not as untouchable as you seem. It gives me hope." Her eyes went wide, suddenly panicked. "I mean, that you're normal. That you don't have to be some amazing... person to win. Not that you aren't. But it makes me think that maybe I can—"

He laughed and lay a hand on her shoulder, turning her toward him. Slowly he let it follow the curve of her arm, trailing down to take both of her hands in his. He held her gaze. "You looked beautiful up there tonight."

Her smile was timid, but she couldn't look away. "...thanks. I... like the dress. It reminds me of your eyes."

He grinned. "I like it, too."

"Finnick?"

"Hm?"

"Were you scared? Before the Games?"

He slid closer. "Before. During. After." Her hair had fallen in her eyes again. Hesitantly, he swept a strand back and tucked it behind her ear. "I think I'm more scared now, though."

"Why?"

"Beause now I have a reason to be. And because I can't fight, at least not in the way I want to."

"I can fight." She meant it, but it didn't stop her lips from trembling.

"I know you can. And I'm going to be doing everything I can from here. I promise."

"Because you're my sponsor. That's why you're here."

"There's that, yeah." He smiled, tracing a finger along her chin. "But there's also this." Leaning low, his lips found hers. If they trembled now, he didn't notice, but maybe his were trembling too.

* * *

><p>If there was one good thing about being the Capitol's favorite victor, it was the contacts. Whenever he came to the city, he was faced with a full schedule of appearances, parties, private functions. It was also the worst part. But this was different.<p>

The Capitol's wealthiest citizens all knew or knew of Finnick Odair. Most of them would leap at the chance for a moment of his time, and those who were owed favors by President Snow were given more than that. But this was the first time he gave himself willingly – eagerly – to the whirlwind.

He watched the opening of the Games from the President's own grand ballroom. He saw Darren beheaded, saw the blood splash across Annie's face, saw her make for the darkness of the woods. People were cheering, pressing around him, patting him on the back in sympathy for his lost tribute. But when the camera cut to Annie, huddled alone and weeping, it was all he could do not to run.

There was a woman hanging on his arm, muttering something about a "filthy girl." But Finnick found himself smiling, talking about the merits of getting an early advantage, of how cheap a loaf of District Four bread would be this early in the Games. It was even easier when he got to talk about Annie, about why they shouldn't count her out. The woman was willing enough to listen, pressing herself against him. They could go somewhere more private and discuss it, she said.

As the woman steered him away, he caught Mags' eye. She came to some of the parties, of course, but those standing around her were simply nodding and smiling, only able to make out a few words of her garbled speech. It was up to him, but knowing she was there was enough.

That night, Annie ate bread. The next night was cakes, a sleeping bag, a knife. With each parachute, it became easier. Finnick started seeking out wealthier contacts, those that he had known before. He dressed in the gaudiest and most revealing of Capitol fashions, attended party after party, but never strayed far from the broadcasts of the Games.

Once, these people might have disgusted him. Once, he might have balked at the things that pleased them, the things he was forced to endure. But now they were his lifeline. He clung to it, never sleeping, always with an eye to the television. He watched as Annie became well-fed, well-supplied, well-armed. But it wasn't enough. Whenever the camera focused on her eyes, he knew that something was wrong. He was doing everything he could, but it wasn't enough.

He had to get her out, had to end it. For that, there was only one place he could turn.

* * *

><p>"You love her."<p>

Finnick held the old man's gaze. "Yes."

"And you're willing to do anything to bring her home."

"That's why I'm here." His shoulders were tense, bracing for impact, prepared to accept whatever the old man's price.

"I wish you had come to me with this sooner. We could have made it sing."

"'Sing?'"

"A mentor in love with a tribute. A bit risqué, perhaps, but since it's you... I think the audience would have loved it."

"Do you?"

"Ah, well that is the question, isn't it?" He paced away, locking his hands behind his back. "You still haven't given me reason to love the girl, but maybe that's not something that anyone but you could understand. Maybe it's enough that you do."

"Gamemaker?"

He chuckled. "That's _Head_Gamemaker, my boy. But you've done an impressive job. Gaining sponsors for a tribute that no one would have bet on. It reminds me of your Games. They were my first, you know, as Head Gamemaker."

"I didn't."

"No shortage of sponsors then either, as I recall. Even as a boy, you had a way about you."

"...thank you." Finnick kept his face carefully still.

"But youth has no patience for the ramblings of an old man, hm? You came here asking a price."

He did meet this eyes then, expression warring between fear and hope.

"It's late. Help me upstairs to my bed."

Finnick hid his sigh well, keeping his back stiff and strong as the old Gamemaker leaned heavy on his arm. He could sense the boy's relief. Even detestable, this was something he understood, a currency that he was used to trading in. It was slow that they made their way up the stairs, slow that they found the darkened bedroom.

Finnick lowered the old man carefully onto the bed, stood mutely by as he situated himself on a great mound of pillows. When he was settled, he looked up at the younger man, watching as he moved to lift his shirt over his head.

"Tsk. None of that, now."

Finnick looked confused. "I thought you—"

"Pull up a chair, boy. Sit beside me for a while. Like I said, I don't get many visitors."

"Yes, Gamemaker."

"Please, call me Aldon. And don't play meek. It doesn't suit you."

Finnick couldn't help but chuckle as he dragged an overstuffed chair to the bedside and sank into it. "So what do you—?"

"Do you remember them? The sponsors from your Games?"

He shrugged. "Most of them. They made a point of introducing themselves, you know?"

"They felt like they had bought a piece of you."

"Yeah."

"And you don't worry that will happen to Annie?"

"They didn't buy her. They bought me."

"A noble gesture." The old man shifted against his pillows. "But you only said most. Not all of your sponsors were so demanding?"

"Well... there was one gift. Mags said it was anonymous."

"The trident."

Finnick blinked up at him. "How did you know?"

"The same way I knew that I had a star on my hands." The old man grinned. "It cost me a pretty penny, but the risk certainly paid off."

"You...?"

"It was my first year as Head Gamemaker, remember? I wanted to put on a show. You didn't let me down."

"That's illegal, isn't it?"

"It is. Then again, so is attempting to bribe a Gamemaker."

Finnick smirked.

"That said, I couldn't be seen to give unfair advantage. I still can't. You understand?"

"...Yes."

"So." He settled back on the pillows and let his eyes fall shut. "Tell me more about this Annie. What are her strengths? Her weaknesses?"

For his part, Finnick understood the old man's meaning. He talked long into the night, letting his words wander where they would. He spoke of District Four, of the sea, but it always came back to Annie. He had seen her before, he realized, swimming with her friends in the waters of the bay last summer. He recounted details that he hadn't even known he recalled – her laugh, the power behind her strokes, a contest in which she had held her breath longer than any of the others. The old man let him speak, making no reply. Sometimes Finnick could not even tell if he was awake, but late in the night the old man reached over and took his hand.

"I always wanted to be a Gamemaker, you know."

"You wanted to watch children die?"

"No." He shook his head sleepily. "I wanted to watch them triumph."

Finnick pulled his hand away.

"That's enough for tonight, I think. You've kept an old man company long enough."

"And Annie?"

"You want to know if you've done enough. In the end it's up to her though, isn't it? Let's see if you've given her a reason to come back."

* * *

><p>He could sense that the boy wanted to say more, wanted to argue, wanted to press the pillow over his head and end it right there, maybe. But after a long moment, he heard him stand, heard footsteps on the stair and the slam of the door below. Only then did the old man release his sigh.<p>

Reaching over to the nightstand, he retrieved his phone and pushed a single button. "It's me. Send a team to prep the dam. Tomorrow we flood the arena."


End file.
